Jump Journal: Into the Deep
by Kate Christie
Summary: "She woke to his hands pressing her shoulders to the mattress, his chest resting firmly over hers. She felt the cold sweat, the gooseflesh, the tracks of tears. Her muscles were tight—she had been fighting him." M-rated content from my story, "Jump," to fit in after chapter 9.
1. Chapter 1

**Jump Journal: Into the Deep Chapter 1 / Jump Chapter 3.5**

**A/N: M-rated content for "Jump" will appear under this story. Picks up right where chapter 3 left off. Happy Birthday AC!**

She was going to marry Richard Castle. Richard Castle was going to be her husband.

And she needed to pay attention, because the man in question's lips were moving and sounds were coming out, and she should probably concentrate on something other than how kissable those lips looked right now.

"Good, because I've never been so sure of anything in my whole life."

Her heart melted a little more, if that was possible. His words probably merited a response.

"I love you." She kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm going to have to start weight training my hand to hold up this ring." She held her hand up to let the light hit the diamond. "And I'm finally going to make an honest Writer-Boy out of you." She brought her hand to his chest and stroked up and down over his sternum. "You sensing any doubts?"

"No, I'm not, and that's making me want to kiss-"

She interrupted him with her lips, but he still tried to finish.

"Mmm-you again."

She giggled into his mouth. Still giddy-this ridiculous lightness of being wasn't going away.

He pulled back enough to see her eyes, and she was so glad to see the twinkle there in full force.

"Do you know how happy you just made me?"

His tone was light, but she heard the soul-shaking truth behind his words.

He really had no clue that she was in this just as much as he was. She should fix that.

"I think I might have some idea, yeah."

She took his hand and laid it flat against the center of her chest, let him feel her heart pounding out all of the joy unfurling inside her.

His smile widened, eyes flashed awe.

"Yeah, I guess you do."

Despite the late hour, he insisted on opening the champagne.

Her brain and her body were so keyed up now that taking a moment to settle, just to themselves, in the dark of night, seemed the right thing to do. Tomorrow would be for sharing this with the outside world. Tonight was for each other, and for discovering how to begin living out the promises they had made.

Accepting the glass from his hand, she immediately raised it toward him, waiting for a toast.

He tipped his head to the side, lips parted slightly, but no eloquent phrase was forthcoming.

"Really, Castle? Now you're speechless?"

A breath and a blink and really? His eyes were brimming again. Waterworks were contagious tonight.

"I can't help it if I have no words to describe a feeling I've never felt before."

A puddle. Her heart was a puddle of mush on the floor. But apparently she had to step up, since her wordsmith had suddenly lost his words.

"To making each other speechless."

They clinked glasses and sipped. The crisp, cold wine on her tongue snapped her out of her sappiness.

"This is fabulous. What are we drinking?"

He sidled up to her and slipped his arm around her waist, tugged her in to his side.

"Cristal."

"As in, vintage, French champagne, Cristal?"

He smiled at her and ran his fingers from the band of her bra to the top of the bow on her underwear, then back up again. She'd never put on any clothes, but he didn't seem to mind. Dora was going to die when she heard about this.

"1990."

"You just keep this sitting in your wine room?"

He leaned in to nibble her neck as he spoke.

"Well, I've kept this one, and a couple of others, squirreled away, for special occasions, well-hidden from my mother."

Damn distracting lips. She started unbuttoning his pajama top in retaliation.

"Do I want to know how much this is worth?"

He'd made his way up behind her ear. She was beginning to lose her focus.

"Not nearly as much as the occasion we're drinking it for."

When he pulled her ear lobe and the diamond still fastened there between his lips her knees wobbled.

"Think we could take this occasion to a horizontal surface?"

She slid the shirt off his shoulders.

"I thought you'd never ask."

He released her waist and grabbed the ice bucket, set it on his nightstand. She followed him to the edge of the bed.

The gravitas of this night kept hitting her at odd moments. She sat on the side of the bed, feet on the floor, contemplating one of the flickering candles and sipping her champagne.

She was engaged to Richard Castle.

He was topping off his glass and sat to refill hers. Adrenaline was still making her hands shake, and so a few drops spilled, hitting her bare thigh and startling her with their icy tingle.

"Oh, sorry. Sorry. I'm a mess."

"Yes, but you're my mess." He stopped her hand with his forearm as she moved to wipe away the liquid. "And I get to clean you up."

He put the bottle back away and dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her, eyeing the spill.

"We really shouldn't waste any of this."

And he proceeded to place an open-mouthed kiss over the bubbling drops. Warm tongue and cold champagne and…

"Mmm. Actually, I think it tastes much better this way."

Smiling up at her with eyes suddenly dark, he rose from the floor and leaned in for a kiss. It was a tight press of his lips to hers, hot and hard and determined. As she granted his seeking tongue entrance, his fingers wound into her hair, and he braced one knee beside her on the bed.

He tried to reach around her back with his other hand, forgetting they were both still juggling glasses. With a grunt of frustration, he released her lips and leaned away to set both flutes on the floor.

Kate leaned back on her hands to keep herself upright, swaying slightly with a fresh and nearly overpowering wave of wanting.

Rick returned to her lips briefly, but then trailed warm, wet kisses down her neck and across her chest, skimming his lips just above the lace of her bra. His fingers were barely brushing the satin covering the underside of her breasts, and she couldn't help arching her back to encourage his hands. He thumbed her nipples through the lace, and she let out a moan as she felt herself harden painfully.

When he released her, wrapping his hands around her ribcage to unfasten her bra, she whimpered at the loss of warmth. After sitting forward to let him slide the straps down her arms, she grabbed his hands and placed them back where she wanted them.

She loved those hands, and how she fit perfectly in his wide palms.

He cupped her gently, then pulled away and flattened his palms so that they were barely brushing her dusky peaks, circling, teasing, giving just enough to tighten them more. When she thought she couldn't stand another glorious second, he pressed his hands firmly against her again, making her hum in approval.

He placed a gentle kiss in the center of her chest, over her scar, and then whispered against her skin.

"I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Her heart clenched, knowing they had both been lucky to make it to this moment, together and whole.

Her moment of contemplation was brief. Replacing one of his hands with his mouth, he laved at her nipple, sending sparks of arousal directly to her core.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, she saw him reach for his champagne glass on the floor. Seconds later, he released her and took a sip, looking up into her eyes as he returned to her breast.

When his warm lips attached to her again, she felt a sudden rush of cold bubbles and cried out.

He swirled his tongue against her nipple with the champagne, confusing her senses and intensifying the connection.

His swallow left her bathed in warmth again, but only momentarily, because almost immediately he was taking another sip and returning to her other breast. Pleasure swamped her and she couldn't hold herself up under the onslaught.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled him with her as she lay back on the bed. He leaned over her, resting one hand on the mattress and letting go of her breast.

Champagne in his hand, Rick tipped the glass to trickle a stream of bubbly down the flat plane of her stomach and into her navel. He followed the chilly trail with his hot mouth, tongue lapping at her skin, raising goose bumps as he went.

The tip of his tongue dipped into the hollow of her belly button and made her muscles clench.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to drink Cristal ever again without getting you naked."

She raised herself up on her elbows to look down at him, tried to get her voice to come out without squeaking.

"I'd be fine with that, really."

His fingertips found one end of the bow on her single remaining piece of clothing. He tugged, teasing apart the ribbons and tickling her hip with the rustle of satin.

Ridding himself of his glass yet again, he used his index finger to trace the edges of her now-untied underwear, teasing by not nudging the scrap of fabric away.

"Did I mention that I like your evil underwear?"

"Castle if you don't get rid of my evil underwear right this second, you're going to find out how evil I can be in the bedroom."

His eyes shot up to meet hers, slightly shocked and somehow even more aroused.

"You mean I haven't already met Evil Temptress Kate? You've been holding back!"

Her growl seemed to spur him into action, and her underwear joined her bra somewhere behind him on the floor.

She reached out to tug him up over her, but he placed her hand back on the bed and grabbed her hips, pulled her to the very edge of the mattress, and knelt on the floor at her feet.

Okay, then. He apparently had a plan.

He kissed her kneecap, then nudged her knees apart.

Why was that so hot? Might be how inordinately attracted she was to him at this moment, and really, at any moment, and oh, she hoped he wasn't going to tease any more.

He spread her thighs wide, opening her up before him. She found purchase for her heels on the edge of the bed frame, a point of contact that kept their shaking from being so obvious.

She was about to come out of her skin, and he wasn't in any hurry.

In fact, as she angled up on her elbows again, she saw him take another sip of champagne. Oh, frack. She might not survive this.

He pressed his lips gently to her center, teasing her clit with just the tip of his tongue. And then she felt the wash of tingling cold against her heated flesh. Bubbles teased her nerve endings, alternating with warm swathes of tongue. She couldn't hold in her reaction.

"Ah… Rick… Fuck… "

He slid one finger along her slick and swollen folds, then pressed it inside her. A second followed immediately, and they splayed wide, spreading to fire all the nerve endings at her entrance. He flattened his tongue against her, and her hips pressed up into his mouth without her permission.

When he sank his fingers deeper, found her sweet spot and pressed hard against it with their tips, she sobbed.

Over six months they had learned so much, found so many ways to please each other, but despite all their practice, he'd found a new one tonight. It was somehow appropriate for their relationship that engagement sex should involve a twenty-two-year-old bottle of French champagne.

He was intensifying his attack on her body, sucking, flicking his tongue, swirling, pressing, curling his fingers so deep.

Her head fell back toward the mattress, unable to cope with the intensity.

Warmth enveloped her as he swallowed the wine and concentrated on bringing her to her peak.

Such directed intent made her dizzy; her breath was coming in shallow pants, timed in synch with the movement of his fingers against her front wall. When he pressed hard against her clit with the flat of his tongue, it set off the first tingles low in her belly.

"Oh, don't stop, please."

He seemed in no danger of doing so, as he reached up with his free right hand and twined his fingers with her left, circling over her ring.

She breathed out an "I love you," and he hummed against her.

The vibrations and his simultaneous increase in pace pushed her to the point of no return.

He must have felt her first contractions against his fingers, because he responded with firmer pressure there, ratcheting up the fierceness of her pleasure. The climax exploded through her, colors streaming behind her eyelids.

He eased her through it, gentled his movements, gripped her hand again as she got control over her breathing.

When he slid his fingers from her and pulled his warm mouth away, all she could think of was replacing those with other, more substantial parts of his anatomy.

"Now. I need you inside me now."

He rose from the floor and slid off his pajama pants and underwear, then propped himself on one hand to hover over her as she lay draped half off the mattress. He positioned himself at her entrance and stilled, met her eyes.

Without more prompting, she raised up on her elbows to watch him enter her.

His eyes stayed on her face, and she felt heat creeping up her cheeks at the scrutiny.

As he parted her folds, began to stretch her and press inside, she inhaled sharply and forced her lids to stay open. As his length disappeared inside her, she could feel her body adjusting, shifting to accommodate the invasion.

His hips finally closed the last inch of distance between them and met hers, then held. Her eyes met his, dark and deep and warm, and then he began to move. A few long, slow strokes and she could tell from the strain in his shoulders and the restraint in his hips that he was already fighting to hold on.

"If we keep this up, I'm going to embarrass myself. You need to get on top of me."

She knew with this angle she would take a while to ramp up again. Not enough of her was in contact with him. Never one to turn down the chance for another climax, she nodded.

He slipped out of her and they took down the covers, climbed up to the headboard.

She shoved pillows against it and motioned him to sit up against them.

As she climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs and placing her palms on his broad shoulders, he reached out and brushed a fingertip over the diamond still hanging around her neck.

"I think I could get used to you in nothing but these, bathed in champagne, flushed and sweaty in our bed."

He was grinning at her, looking proud of himself and his ability to form coherent thoughts. She smirked back.

"Why just the bed?"

And she sank down to take him inside her again.

Oh, now this angle was all contact in all the right places. As she began to move, his hands stroked over her back, palmed her hips, pulled her in tight against him. He brought one back up to cover her breast, used finger and thumb to tweak her nipple. He didn't have much leverage to move against her sitting up, so he slid down slightly.

"Not… not going to take long, here, Castle."

He paused in his trail of lips and tongue down her collarbone to answer.

"Good, then we're even."

She sped her pace, but kept her movements small. She could feel his length pressing deep, could picture just how much of him was inside her as they rocked together.

He reached for her hand, interlaced fingers, attached his lips to that perfect spot on the side of her neck.

Her rhythm began to falter as she felt the first stirrings of her climax. He took over, then, driving up against her, releasing her neck to focus on breathing instead.

She let out a little hum from the back of her throat as he tightened his hold on her hips. The friction set her off, and she stiffened, cried out, pulsed hard around him. He thrust harder and then called her name as he spilled inside her.

Their foreheads met, faces pink and glistening with sweat, as they eased through the aftershocks.

"I love you."

Her old self could not have imagined how their love-making could get more intense than it had been in those first days of their relationship. Now she knew better. Every new intimacy, every response built on what went before, and all of it was amplified by what they felt for each other. Their love was stronger every day, and with it, so went this physical incarnation.

"Hey."

He snapped her out of her thoughts with a kiss on her cheek.

"Hmm?"

"You're thinking pretty loudly."

"Just thinking about how sex keeps getting better with you."

"I was thinking that, too."

"Really?"

She smiled. They were both being ridiculous saps by her usual standards, but somehow tonight, it seemed like the thing to do.

He pulled her left hand up to his lips, kissed her knuckles.

"That, and I was imagining how much better it's going to be when I'm making love with my wife."


	2. Chapter 2

**Jump 6.5 / Jump Journal 2**

**This chapter fits in right after chapter 6 of my "Enlightenment" sequel, "Jump." You should read that first so this makes some amount of sense… **

His hands slid down, cupped her flannel-covered cheeks as his tongue delved deep into her mouth.

The tears that blurred onto his stubble were happy. They were Kate, overwhelmed with love.

He'd said and done every single thing she needed in that terrible moment of doubt and fear.

And now he lifted her in the air, left her no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist, curl her arms around his neck, and be carried to their bed.

When he leaned over to lay her softly down, she finally separated their lips. A tiny noise of discontent escaped them both, but she was already halfway through the buttons on his pajama top, and he only had her pants to deal with.

As slowly and carefully as their bodies had come together in the harsh, fluorescent light before the mirror, now they made up for lost time and recklessness in the soft moon glow of the bedroom.

Time was a fickle companion with their love-making. When they were apart and craving a brush of fingers, a chaste press of lips, the hours dragged on. And when she wanted to memorize every touch, every moment of his worship of her body, even her formidable force of will couldn't stop the clock's relentless ticking.

In a moment, they were naked and entangled under the covers, hands seeking skin, lips wet and open and on each other.

He seemed intent on showing her just what he loved about her breasts. Since Martha's ordeal had begun, something like fear had washed over her every time she had looked at herself in the mirror.

But it was more than fear. It was also betrayal. The premise of her body turning against her, her own cells conspiring to make her sick, even end her life, sat wrong with her psyche.

Kate didn't want to mistrust her body—it had been the one constant in her life, the one crutch to rely upon when other people had let her down. It had fought hard to live, to be whole again. How could it switch sides, from ally to enemy?

The kindness of a friend and the love of this man had helped her overcome so much of her self-consciousness about the scars that memorialized that struggle.

But in the past week, some part of her subconscious had begun to resent the most outward evidence of her femininity, all on the basis that her own breasts might one day turn against her.

As with every battle she had fought since she had known him, Rick was right there with her now, forcing her to face the fear, confront that seed of mistrust before it took hold in her mind.

When his body nestled against hers, one warm palm cupped her smooth flesh, holding her gently, waiting for her to press against him. And when she did, and felt her nipple peak at the pressure, he responded with a firm grip, a press of her flesh against her ribcage.

She moaned into his mouth, let the sound reverberate over his tongue as it played against hers.

As he pulled away from her lips, she couldn't complain because he immediately found the soft skin of her neck, whispered to her between kisses.

"You are healthy, and whole, and beautiful, and you can't be afraid of something that may never happen. And besides, I have plans for them. Lot's of plans."

His lips curled up against the curve of her collarbone, and he looked up at her with a rakish rise of his brow. She couldn't help but grin back at him, huff out a chuckle. Oh he was good.

He worked his way to her other breast, latching on and caressing her nipple gently with the flat of his tongue, wiping the smile from her lips and drawing a moan from the back of her throat.

He took her other nipple, already pebbled in anticipation, between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling and pressing until she cried out, clutched at the pillow above her head.

And then his mouth truly took hold. He suckled, drew as much of her softness inside as he could manage, consumed her with the heat and the suction.

And when she thought she couldn't stand anything more, he gently closed his teeth around her peak, used enough force to steal her breath, then let go and sucked harder, until she whimpered, desire for this dark feeling of possession fighting her instinct to draw away.

This was his claim, his reminder that her body was also his, as much as his belonged to her.

She wouldn't deny him the reassurance; she would revel in it.

When he finally released that nipple and moved to the other, she sighed at the loss of contact. He replaced his lips and tongue with his palm, flattened it against her swollen nub, circled until her back arched up off the bed, seeking more.

He tormented her other breast with his mouth, licking, nipping, gently abusing the nipple and areola until she needed him to stop—needed to catch her breath.

She laced her fingers in his hair and forcibly pulled him away from her chest. He separated unwillingly, finally releasing her with a soft pop and an angry groan.

"Too much. Gimme a sec."

He pinned her with his eyes as he blatantly disregarded her request, pressing his palm into her rapidly cooling nipple. She hissed as her sensitive skin was stretched with the friction of his dry, flat hand.

"Fuck! Castle—enough."

He relented, pulling both hands away from her chest and instead gripping her ribcage, sliding down. But if she thought he was letting up, she was mistaken.

He trailed his lips and tongue down, exhaled over her center, made her grunt in sudden and complete frustration when he seemed unwilling to touch her where she wanted it most.

And then his fingers found her folds, parted them, slipped inside her with the intent to conquer. There was no preamble, gone were the patience and the slow build. He curled both digits until his knuckles made contact with her sweet spot. When that jolt of pleasure had her sufficiently distracted, his hot, wet mouth descended on her, and his tongue laved at her clit.

Despite her earlier protests, she found her own hands drawn to her nipples, replacing his contact with her own.

Almost immediately he had her wound tight, using speed and force and her overloaded senses all to his advantage.

He wasn't letting up. He wanted her to… oh holy… she was going to… God she wanted to…

"Castle, I'm… I want you inside me."

He pulled away from her, retreated with the warmth and wetness to answer her.

"Oh, I will be—just not yet."

And then he redoubled his efforts, swirled his tongue over her with methodical, slow, teasing force as his fingers unwound every carefully constructed reason why she didn't want to fly apart under his mouth and hands.

He was masterful at this act. He'd perfected it. He could tease, take her up, tear her down, make her beg. No one had ever had such complete and utter control over her body. It was as though he knew her reactions before she could voice them, experience them, fathom their existence.

And he knew it.

His mouth was a vacuum, drawing sensation, physical reaction, vocalization from her without inhibition, without chagrin.

When the tip of his tongue focused on the tip of her clit, flicked and pressed, unrelenting, merciless, she cried out, knew that anyone in the loft could probably hear, but couldn't be bothered to care. She couldn't filter this. Could never filter her body, her mind, her heart's reaction to him. At least not anymore.

With one firm stroke of his knuckles inside her, she felt her internal muscles flicker and give in. The orgasm pulled her hips off the bed, arched her back, stole her breath.

He eased her down gently, but when she thought he would climb up, pin her to the mattress with his hips, have his way with her, instead he slid up beside her.

His weight on the mattress tipped her toward him, and she faced him on her side, found his eyes, dark and sparking.

She slung one knee over his hip, trying to align them, but he grabbed it, pulled it across his body as he turned on his back, forced her to rise over him. When she would have lifted her hips to join them, he gripped her waist with strong fingers, guided her first to one side, then turned her to face away from him.

Oh, he knew exactly what this did to her.

When she straddled his hips again, now facing his feet, she felt his insistent length brush against her inner thigh. She took him in her hand and circled her thumb over his tip, spreading the bead of fluid that had collected there. She loved that she could do this to him—felt a rush of power as he twitched in her grip, as his fingers clenched tighter around her waist.

Her other hand reached down, cupped him gently, prompted a gasp and a thrust of his hips into her other hand.

She guided him to her center, teased them both by playing his smooth tip along her folds, circling it over her swollen nub.

When his hips bucked toward her, she finally gave in, rose slightly to press him to her entrance. She sank down slowly, letting him stretch her and luxuriating in the prolonged moment of penetration.

His hands now found their way back to her over-sensitized breasts, palmed them gently as he whispered her name.

Seating her hips flush against his, she felt herself relax to accommodate him. But at that same moment he thrust up, forced himself further in, and her breath caught as she felt him nudge deep in her pelvis.

She reached one hand behind her, placed it beside him on the mattress until she could arch back, rest her weight on that arm.

He shifted his hips again, reminded her why she loved this position, this angle that wedged the underside of him up against every nerve along her front wall.

She lifted, sank again, set a steady rhythm that drew a moan from deep within his chest.

From the desperation of that noise, there was no question in her mind that he was close, but she knew he would wait for her to fall with him.

Finding the place where they were joined with the fingers of her free hand, she swiped at the moisture pooled there and spread it up and over her clit.

Thighs and abs and hips straining, she escalated the rise and fall of her body over his, used the pads of her fingers to tease herself roughly, in time with his thrusting counterpoint to her movements.

Though she knew her body always responded to him, she rarely felt the evidence of her arousal so directly. Having her own fingers splayed over her swollen flesh as she pumped against him only made her more wanton, less restrained.

He rolled her nipples again, and she cried out as she arched further back toward his chest. Seemingly spurred on by her response, Rick thrust harder.

She was losing focus, could barely keep up with him, finally gave up trying and stilled above him, let him do the work. She could concentrate on keeping him exactly where she needed him, concentrate on the swirl and press of her fingers.

"Kate."

His voice was deep, as dark and uncontrolled as she felt.

"Let go. I want you to come for me."

She whimpered as he dropped his hands from her chest to use them for leverage as he sat up and pressed himself to her back.

His breath against the curve of her shoulder nearly pushed her over.

The shift in his angle made the pressure of his strokes exquisite in their intensity. Her arm was shaking with the strain of continuing to hold her weight, so she leaned into the solid wall of his warmth behind her.

His lips found the angle of her neck, and she gasped.

The first flutters of her climax overtook her, and his voice rasped in her ear.

"That's it. Right now."

She felt herself clench tight around him as he muffled a cry in her hair.

"Oh, yes, Kate."

This was the moment when she always knew, when she could read every moment of his past, his present, even his future. The surprise in his voice coupled with the restraint of his body told her that he had never held on, had never held out, had never pinpointed his focus with this razor sharp precision toward finding release for another as he did with her. It was as though every time it happened, he couldn't quite believe he had managed it, but at the same time, he refused not to.

Giving in, he snapped his hips up into her and came hard, pulsing hot and deep in time with her body's own spasms. With each rock of his hips forward, he whispered against her skin.

"God, I love you. Need you. Never want to stop… making love to you."

She collapsed into his chest as the last aftershock gripped her, and his arms came around her, clinging to her flushed and heaving ribcage.

Sometimes, when it was this intense between them, she swore she could see the love, a reddish, hazy glow, floating, encompassing them in their own little cloud. She was safe here with him—safe from the world, yes, but more importantly, safe from her own dark thoughts, her self-recrimination.

She knew he felt it, too, was cocooned with her, warm and happy and unbothered by the world.

They healed each other here. And more than any moment of bravery at a crime scene, any rush through a burning building, with this act, this love, they would save each other.

# * # * # * #

**See the new Castle Archive, Extraordinary Lines:**

**Twitter: Kate_Christie_**

**Tumblr: KathrynChristie**


	3. Chapter 3

**Jump 9.5 / Jump Journal 3**

**On twitter, we decided this chapter might be more accurately titled "Hump," thanks to a near-slip of the keyboard on the part of Brookemopolitan, seconded by Polly_G_Lynn, and fully approved by Deb838 and CoraClavia (which individually would be like acts of Congress, but which together, become something nearer to a direct pronouncement from a higher power, should you believe in one).**

She woke to his hands pressing her shoulders to the mattress, his chest resting firmly over hers. She felt the cold sweat, the gooseflesh, the tracks of tears. Her muscles were tight—she had been fighting him.

As she began to recognize her body as her own again, she heard his voice through the static in her ears. He was speaking words meant to soothe, but also tinged with a panic she hadn't heard from him in months.

When the words started to make sense, she made an effort to relax back under his touch, focus on slowing her breathing, listen to the litany of placation.

"You were dreaming… It was just a bad dream… It's over… It's me—it's Rick. Just try to calm down, Kate."

She tried to focus her shocky vision on the stark blue eyes fixed on hers, willing her to come out of this.

She blinked and he must have seen some flicker of recognition, because he let out a breath, let the tightness around his mouth relax.

She let out a little grunt of frustration. She hadn't had a nightmare in months.

"You're okay. Are you awake enough to talk to me?"

"I'm awake. I'm sorry. I'm… God!"

"Can you promise not to try to hit me if I let go of you?"

Her gut clenched, and she turned her head, twisted away from him when she thought the tears might resurface.

"I hit you?"

She shut her eyes, letting the misery and the embarrassment swallow her.

"You gave it a couple good tries, but I was too quick for you. That's how I knew you were asleep—I'd never be quicker when you're awake."

"I promise not to do it again."

When she tried to cover her face with her hands, he let up on her shoulders and caught her fingers in his, brought them to his lips. He held them, warm breath starting to thaw the icy cold.

"And I know you're a woman of your word."

When she did open her eyes again, there was just a trace of a smile peeking out to greet her.

"I'm—"

"You can stop with the apologies. This isn't the first time—won't be the last—and it's my job to drag you out of these dreams. Even kicking and screaming… or punching."

"I hate that this is still happening!"

He rolled off of her chest, tugged her with him until she was mostly on top of him.

"Tell me—you know it will help."

She tried to lay her head against his ribs, hear the steady heartbeat, let it soothe her.

"It's was the alley."

"But why? Did something come up at work about the case?"

"No, no."

She paused, tried to get in a slow breath, felt it catch in her throat.

"It wasn't my mom this time. It was yours."

She looked up through her lashes for his reaction.

"Oh… Oh. Well I guess that makes sense with tomorrow."

His eyes flicked briefly to the clock.

"Today."

The gentle stroking of his thumbs over the backs of her hands was supposed to be calming her down, but none of this was working. She jerked them out of his grasp, flexed her fingers. The adrenaline was still there—wouldn't let up.

"This needs to just go away. I want it _gone_. I thought it _was_."

Before another mollifying response could escape, she covered his mouth with her own. No more talking.

He let out a grunt of shock as she attacked his lips, parting them with a swipe of her tongue that was meant to invade and find his. She teased him until he followed her back inside her own mouth, then bit down lightly, encouraging him to answer back with the same roughness.

This was so far removed from their slow, gentle lovemaking the night before, when he had worshipped, and cherished, and loved. She had needed that just as much as he had. But now she needed fast and hard and hot.

Her hands were all over him, first stripping his shirt, then sliding down. She gave no warning when one hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers to palm him, still soft and small in her hand. Her lips swallowed his cry at the sudden contact, and she felt him twitch and begin to harden.

She kissed her way down past flexing neck and over now-heaving ribs, pausing briefly to lave and suckle at each flat nipple. He was growing steadily in her grasp and calling out incoherent syllables as her mouth moved relentlessly down, leaving a trail of pink and abused flesh in its wake.

Urgency to have him bare before her forced her to release him so she could hook both hands into his waistband and tug. The offending blue silk was lost in the sheets with a flick of her wrists and an obliging lift of his hips.

Wasting no time, she took him into her mouth, felt his spongy flesh ever-expanding, silky skin tightening. He let out a bellow that sounded vaguely like her name, mixed with a curse. In no time, he was filling her mouth, nudging at the back of her throat. She was overcome by a heady wave of power and lust at the speed of his reaction to her.

She eased back to encircle his base with her fingers and dragged the flat of her tongue up along his length. When his hips surged up at the loss of contact with her mouth, she took just his smooth tip inside her lips and found the divot on its underside with the tip of her tongue. The undulation of his hips against the bed matched the tempo of her ministrations, as did the needy sounds he was struggling futilely to silence above her.

The word was writhe.

This was quite possibly the best example of it. Ever.

She took him back inside, stroked over him in earnest, and his hands tangled in her hair. His grip was tight enough to express his enthusiasm—there were lots of reasons why he liked her hair long, after all—but not tight enough to direct her.

"Kate!"

If she didn't want to finish this right now, she realized it was time to disengage. She did so quickly, then climbed up his body, stripping her t-shirt and underwear as she went.

Straddling him, perched to engulf him, she first found his eyes, hooded and dark in the faint city light sliding through the blinds. When they connected, latched on to hers, she registered that unadulterated _lust_ that still astounded her with its fierceness so many months into this… relationship? That just sounded cliché. Love affair fit better, but lacked the permanence she had become reliant on.

Too much thinking.

Starting to sink, she gasped aloud and was forced to stop almost immediately. The intensity of the stretch was too much—apparently she hadn't had time to catch up to his impressive state of arousal, despite the fact that she had been its instigator.

Pulling away, she wrapped her hand around his girth, swirled his tip over her bundle of nerves.

Despite his obvious enthusiasm for her frenzied pace moments before, Rick now seemed just as pleased to watch her hovering above him, teasing herself. He leaned up to brush a whisper of a kiss against her lips, then bent to capture her nipple in the stark, wet heat of his mouth.

An intense flash of heat sparked straight to her core.

Oh—that would undo her.

Before he could give the other breast the same attention, she was shifting, slicking his length through the moisture now pooling in her folds. Trying a different tactic, he wrapped his hands behind her shoulders and pulled her into an unforgiving kiss.

Screw it. She wanted fast and hard. She wanted the heat of his body to liquefy the icy terror of that dark dream. And if that meant she was sore tomorrow, so be it.

Sliding her hips up and forward, tongue still exploring the farthest corners of his mouth, she sank down again. She had to slide her fingers to where they were joined, spread her folds, to take the last few inches of him. But once they were joined, she eased out of the kiss, let their breath mingle as she let everything inside her go loose.

When she lifted up to let him slide almost completely from her, he held her eyes and thrust hard back in.

Everything was aligned, and something about the angle, or the stretching, or the force of it just made him feel huge and perfect and she wanted to memorize this exact…

But no, she needed to move. Because as good as the stillness, and the fullness, and the pressure were, the motion, the catch of breath, the release of clenching muscles, the fat slide of them working each other up, were infinitely better.

Addictive, even.

Weight split between her knees splayed over his hips and her hands clinging at his shoulders, she set a blistering pace. He was hitting her sweet spot with every stroke, inciting little high-pitched cries with every panting breath.

But all this hot, sweaty contact apparently wasn't enough for him, and Rick's wide hands found her ribcage, pulled her down flush with his chest. His voice, rich and sonorant, cut through the haze of arousal, set some primal part of her brain to vibrating.

"C'mere."

She stretched out her legs, and he caught her calves under his, pinning her lower body tight against him.

Adding a tiny circle to the end of each thrust, he drove her closer, so close, but suddenly it was too much. She couldn't take the sensory overload. Burying her face in his neck, she tried to focus only on the flood of pleasure radiating out from where they were joined.

As the first tingles of climax rippled through her belly, she intentionally slowed their pace, breathed through her nose, took in the scent of his fading cologne mixed with sweat and pheromones and sex. She calmed her heart rate, reined in the frantic pull of lust, because for all her rush, now she wasn't ready for this ride to be over.

He followed her lead, switching to slower strokes, staying mostly buried and slipping his hands down to grip her hips, pull her pelvis snug against his. Their lips met, this kiss long and sweet and warm.

Their bodies were entirely intertwined; she could feel the scrape of his chest hair against her breasts, the kiss of their belly buttons, slick with sweat, the bunching of his abs low on her belly as he curved up and into her. Intimate, detailed images of every point of contact floated through her consciousness; swept her up again, back into the fervor.

And just like that she was on the ledge: teetering, wanting, desperate.

He either felt the shift in her body, or heard the change in her breathing, because his rhythm changed, synched with her psyche, sped up again. Changing the angle of his lips under hers, he dragged her lower one between his teeth, bit down just enough to sting.

Her cry was muffled, swallowed by his mouth, because he wouldn't stop kissing her even though she desperately needed to breathe.

She felt a tingle and then a flutter, and she stilled, arched, tensed, let him plunge deep, over and over with everything perfectly pressed until she was keening out his name, begging him to go with her.

As the world contracted into one tiny point of light and heat and blissful, colliding completion, she felt his muscles tremble, registered the delicious warmth of him, pulsing in counterpoint inside her, opened her eyes and found her unhinged ecstasy reflecting back in the depth of blue before her.

Falling together, they landed in a tangled, gasping, sweaty heap of aftershocks and afterglow. At first her legs wouldn't comply with her brain's request to lift her up and off, but eventually they responded, slightly shaky and uncoordinated. She eased off to one side, but he gripped her against him so she couldn't roll completely away.

She was giddy with the surge of endorphins, so her voice wasn't as dark and teasing as she would have liked.

"Nice job there, Castle. Wasn't sure you could keep up with me."

If she was worried about the warbling or the sing-song pitch, she needn't have been. He sounded positively punch-drunk.

"Hope I've cleared up any lingering doubts about my stamina. And I not only _kept_ up, but I went from zero to sexy in like…" he paused to pant "…a minute and a half. I haven't done that since I was about sixteen." Another harsh breath. "You are _so_ not allowed to call me 'old' ever again."

Her laughter snuck out against his chest, nose nudging at his pec until the muscle twitched.

His fingers snaked into her hair and squeezed.

"Oh my god. You are so amazingly hot. Just when I think you are as sexy as you could possibly be, you pull something like that, something I couldn't even begin to imagine for page 105, and blow me completely away."

She lifted her head to find his eyes half-rolled-back, head flung haphazardly between the pillows.

"'Away' wasn't exactly where I was aiming with that bl—"

She was stopped mid-banter by his lips, sealing to hers as he answer with a murmured: "Mmmhmmm."

He intentionally separated with a smack and smirked at her.

"I love that your mind is just as dirty as mine."

"More."

"Really? Because I'm pretty dirty inside my head. I just don't let it out into the world, gentleman that I am."

"Out in the world does not equal in our bed, Rick. So quit holding out on me."

She felt rather than heard his answering chuckle. His voice was beginning to slur slightly, in that warm, light, unguarded way that always reminded her how open he was with her.

"I'm always up for exorcising demons with ridiculous sex, but just so you know, I'm gonna pass out in about ten seconds, so you're gonna have to do without the sweet nothings in your ear, lulling you softly to sleep."

"After sex like that? Fuck the sweet nothings."

"Oh my god, we _so_ just did."

She laughed enough to snort lightly, which set her to giggling even more.

Fingers engaged at her side, and suddenly she was being tickled, flailing to get away and then fighting back in kind. She wedged herself back up over him and got the advantage quickly, likely because he was still mildly physically disabled from their love-making.

"Truce! Truce! No more tickling!"

"You started it!"

"Fine! Yes, and so I'll finish it! Enough!"

She collapsed back against his side, sated now in an entirely different and maybe more meaningful way.

Because now it wasn't just her body sinking into his, relaxed and warm, it was also her mind settling, her heart nuzzling next to his, beating in time.

Sleep would come now, dreamless and slack beside him, was already drifting over her.

She registered his mumbled, "I love you," which she answered back aloud.

Unbidden, she continued the thought in her head, "and I'm never going to stop."

But the swift rise of his chest and the tight clench of his arms around her ribs told her that her filter was off; that had been out loud.

"Gonna hold you to that, Beckett."

The answering curve of her lips matched the curve of the rib they were tracing.

"Good thing I'm a woman of my word."

**# * # * # * #**

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